Free Heart Song by V. C. Andrews Page A

widened and Grandma Olivia held her fork frozen between the plate and her mouth.
"Oh? And exactly what has he told you about the past?" the judge followed.
"Just a little bit about what it was like to grow up here in Provincetown," I said.
Grandma Olivia put her fork down and looked at the judge, shaking her head in the slightest, but just discernable way. The judge returned to his food and the topic of conversation changed to what would happen to the country's economy if the Republicans didn't win control of the Senate.
After we had eaten, Grandma Olivia proposed something that made my eyes bulge with surprise.
"While you two idiots go have your cigars, Melody and I will walk out to the gazebo and have a private talk," she said. "Come along," she told me as she rose from the table.
"We'll be there shortly," Grandpa Samuel said.
"Don't rush your filthy habit on my account," she replied. The judge laughed and Grandpa shrugged. I followed Grandma Olivia out of the house and down the back steps. She paused and waited for me to walk alongside her.
"Did you enjoy the lunch?"
"Oh yes. Thank you. Everything was wonderful."
"Later, we'll have some tea and some petit fours. Tell me more about this summer job of yours," she said and continued down the pathway toward the gazebo.
Why was my working for Kenneth such an important topic? What did they expect me to tell them?
"There's not much more to say about it, Grandma Olivia. I enjoy watching Kenneth work. He lives in an interesting place, so close to the sea, to nature. I enjoy my walks along--"
"When he talked to you about the past," she interrupted, not satisfied with my response, "he didn't mention anything about his father?" When I didn't respond immediately, she stopped and looked at me. "Well?"
"He doesn't like talking about his father very much," I offered, but I saw that wasn't enough. She grimaced as if she had bitten into a sour apple, and then turned to step into the gazebo. I followed her inside and sat across from her on a pristine white garden bench.
"What did you want to talk about?" I finally asked. Surely my summer job wasn't the topic; it was obvious by now that I had been brought here for some sort of cross-examination.
"I think you're a lot smarter than your mother was at your age," she began. "Your mother's interests were quite simple to begin with, and her curiosity about anything more than boys was limited."
"I don't think it's fair to talk about her this way. She's not alive. She can't dispute anything," I countered. Standing up to her brought tears to sting my eyes. I took a deep breath and then looked away.
"Nonsense. If we couldn't talk about anyone who was dead, a great many mistakes would be made. It would also be a mistake for you not to tell me what, if anything, Kenneth Childs said about his father?'
I turned back to her.
"Why is that so important to you?" I asked. "Don't you dare ask me questions in response to questions I ask you," she admonished.
"All I know is that they don't talk much to each other, but I don't know why."
She raised her eyebrows.
"He didn't say?" she asked cautiously.
"No, not really."
"What's that mean, not really? Either he did or he didn't," she said, leaning impatiently forward in her seat.
"He didn't," I replied, the tears welling again in my eyes.
"I see," she said, continuing to scrutinize me. I felt as if I were sitting under a bright light in a police station.
"Is this why you invited me to luncheon, to interrogate me about what Kenneth said about his own father?" I demanded to know, despite her strict warning about questioning her.
"Don't be impudent," she snapped.
"I think it's pretty sad if the only way the judge can find out about his own son is through someone spying on him," I added.
"Don't you dare say anything like that to the judge," she chastised. "No one said anything about you spying on anyone," she added, but I glared back at her.
"You could have invited Kenneth to this luncheon," I suggested, "and asked him the